


finally home / finally free / finally...

by starblessed



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Homecoming, Post-Canon, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26098024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/starblessed
Summary: Kitty’s been with him in a thousand ways since the last time he saw here. There were her letters, of course, endlessly cheerful and full of rambling stories from home — he saved every one. Then the care packages, knitted mittens and homemade cookies gone stale over the long journey… that picture she had taken in her favorite pearls, just because he asked her for a new one. The articles she sent from home, the Wilkes-Barre Journal mentioning their hometown heroes by name. The letter with a red-lipsticked kiss pressed into the bottom of the paper,Christ Almighty…He’s been dreaming ofKitty, Kitty, Kitty,for so long… that not seeing her feels like a punch to the gut.
Relationships: Kitty Grogan/Harry Welsh
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	finally home / finally free / finally...

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, the characters in this fic are based off of their fictional portrayals from the miniseries Band of Brothers, and I mean no disrespect to the real-life veterans!
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [himbowelsh](http://himbowelsh.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> written for the tumblr kiss prompt: _"Kiss prompt no.3 for Harry and Kitty! / 3. kissing so desperately that their whole body curves into the other person’s"_

He steps off the train with his bag over his shoulder and a spring in his step — one his thigh, which still sometimes aches during rainstorms and long runs, doesn’t appreciate. A little pain never stopped Harry before. Paratroopers, he reminds himself, put up with plenty more than that… and even if he’s not strictly a paratrooper anymore, well, he didn’t earn those jumpwings for nothing. ****

His grin only dims when he scans the platform for familiar faces, and comes up blank. It’s not like he expected a welcoming party — he’s one of twenty fellas in uniform coming home on this train alone — but… well. He expected something. Some _one._

Kitty’s last letter is still in his pocket. He read it ten times since this morning, vibrating with anticipation of finally seeing her again. After two years — and hell, if it doesn’t feel longer than that! It feels like Harry’s spent a lifetime without his love… missing her, dreaming of her, haunted by her in the morphine-hazy days while his wound was healing. He imagined her specter in the frigid Bastogne woods, slipping through skeleton-tree silhouettes. He imagined brushing the snow from her eyelashes, dancing with her around the drifts and bomb craters, kissing life back into her frozen hands as they grew blue and lifeless…

Kitty’s been with him in a thousand ways since the last time he saw here. There were her letters, of course, endlessly cheerful and full of rambling stories from home — he saved every one. Then the care packages, knitted mittens and homemade cookies gone stale over the long journey… that picture she had taken in her favorite pearls, just because he asked her for a new one. The articles she sent from home, the Wilkes-Barre Journal mentioning their hometown heroes by name. The letter with a red-lipsticked kiss pressed into the bottom of the paper, _Christ Almighty…_

He’s been dreaming of _Kitty, Kitty, Kitty,_ for so long… that _not_ seeing her feels like a punch to the gut.

He gave her the right time, didn’t he? The right day? She knows when he’s supposed to be pulling in, he made _sure_ of that —

Another soldier shoulders past, nearly knocking him over. A protest is already on Harry’s lips when he turns, to see the man being embraced by a well-dressed woman. He loops his arms around her waist, swinging her off her feet; she lets out a noise that sounds like a sob, rumbling his uniform as she grips him.

For a minute, he can’t help staring. Something sour and sharp twists in his stomach, a longing he can’t grasp with both hands. When Harry finally tears his gaze away, his throat feels tight.

She said she’d be here…

Slowly, he shuffled forward along the platform. It isn’t crowded, but he searches each face all the same. A telltale flash somewhere, that’s all he’s looking for — a head full of bouncy curls, a smile that could light up the night sky, a sparkling laugh or bell-clear voice calling his name…

He sits down on the bench. He waits.

He’s all alone.

Ten minutes pass, then half an hour. By the time the crowd has thinned down to nothing, the sun is already starting to set on the horizon. Against a backdrop of gold and salmon, shadows stretch longer, and the train station feels lonelier than ever. Harry exhales, long and low, through pursed lips. There’s a paperback in his bag — he finished it on the train — and a half-done crossword puzzle he picked up in New York City, but he doesn’t feel like either of them. If he looks away for a second… well, the irrational thought’s caught hold in his head that Kitty will slip by and he’ll miss her.

She’s not coming. That’s the other irrational thought, a thousand times worse than the one before. As the moments tick by, the more likely it seems. Nixon’s teasing words ring in his ears — _if she hasn’t run off with some 4-F by now… that’s not even funny…_

He scrubs his palms against his knees, nauseous. Jumping into Normandy wasn’t as bad as this. Even then, he had Kitty’s photo in his pocket, and the reassurance of her kisses as soon as he got back, if he got back. Now, it’s a _different_ uncertainty, a buzzing dread that stirs his nerves into an electric storm. He never worried about coming home hurt, even coming home in a box… because at least then he thought Kitty would be there to welcome him back.

He’s made it back in one piece, and she’s not here.

Something inside feels like it’s breaking. Harry pushes it down, smothering it like the burn of sore muscles and frostbite. _Worse pain than this,_ he reminds himself. _You’re a paratrooper. A tough son-of-a-bitch. Paratroopers don’t cry, damn it._

When he rises from the bench, heaving his bag up with him, he doesn’t… even if his eyes sting, and his throat feels too tight to force out a word if he tried.

He could walk home, he considers, making his way to the stairs leading down from the platform. Hitchhike? Maybe some nice Patriot will offer a ride to a guy in uniform. He’s been travelling all day, and he’s rather not heave this bag all the way back to his mother’s house —

The stairs are steep, several flights descending down in a long stretch to the parking lot below. Bathed in dying gold light, Harry can just make out each step… and a figure, too far away to make out, at the very bottom of the stairs.

She’s wearing a mint green dress, and a hat with a turned up brim. Her hair flies about like it’s escaped from their pins in some struggle — curls, he realizes, catching the light like liquid gold. She stumbles on the bottom step, obviously in a hurry, and only catches herself with one hand on the railing.

Harry’s looking down. She looks up.

Their eyes meet, and the world explodes into radiant color.

“Oh my God —” From a distance, he registers his bag dropping to the ground; but Harry’s too caught up to notice, too busy throwing himself forward down the stairs. It’s quicker going down than going up… but she’s moving just as fast, practically bounding up the steps in unsteady kitten heels. (She _hates_ heels, can’t stand them, swears she’ll only wears them for special occasions —)

They meet each other halfway.

Kitty laughs out loud as she falls into his arms. Immediately, he’s gripping her like a lifeline, like he’s parachuted into the ocean and she’s the only raft keeping him afloat. He presses his face into his hair, inhaling the sweet smell of her, registering her urgent babble from a distance.

“I’m so sorry, the car broke down, I waited at the side of the road for an hour, a nice lady had to stop and show me how to fix it, I was worried for you the whole time —”

“I knew you’d come,” he breathes.

Kitty pulls back, hands on his shoulders; her eyes are wide, impossible sweet and unbearably earnest. “Of course I would. You silly, silly man.”

He always imagined that their first kiss would be sweet — something tender, like a reward for making it back alive. Instead, he kisses her like a drowning man desperate for air. His hand knots in her tangled curls; she grips his shoulders fiercely, and presses back with all the fire he remembers, what he fell in love with in the first place. She holds him like she’s determined to never let go again. Kitty presses against him, body angling into his own, and Harry grips her like a prayer. Until the sharp tang of salt forces its way into their kiss, he doesn’t realize he’s crying. When he pulls back, breathing hard, tears streak Kitty’s rosy cheeks as well.

“No, no,” he hushes, wiping them hastily with his thumbs before pressing another kiss to his brow. “I’m home… I can’t believe I’m really home.”

“I missed you so much,” she declares, caressing his cheek like she’s trying to memorize the outline of his face. When Harry breaks into a grin, she beams back, managing a shaky giggle.

Forget the ships, forget the trains… seeing that smile is what truly brings him home.

“I’m here,” Harry declares, leaning in to press another kiss to her lips. “I’m here, Kitty… and I’ll never go anywhere again without you.”


End file.
